


Another One Inside You

by Claire



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Chris is a lying liar who lies, Dub-con issues inherent with amnesia, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 00:25:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire/pseuds/Claire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Peter has amnesia and Chris lies to him about who he is</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another One Inside You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Trope Bingo square 'Fake Relationship'.
> 
> Beta'ed by the awesome Temaris, who saved you all from various word choices that should never have happened.

There's a moment when you wake up, warm and comfortable, with the heat of Chris' body behind you and his sleep-heavy breath gusting across your skin. The sunlight is peeking through the drapes, a slash of brightness falling into the room through the gap Chris always manages to leave when he closes them. You can hear the steady beat of his heart, the slight hitch of his breath that happens in the moments before he wakes. His arm is wrapped around you, fingers splayed over your stomach and you think that lazy hours spent in bed, mapping each other's bodies with tongue and teeth and lips, sounds like the perfect way to spend the day, the perfect way to bleed off the energy still coursing inside you.

You ran last night, paws hitting the forest floor as the moon watched you through the trees, the soft snap of twigs under you and the sound of animals scrabbling to avoid the predator in their midst. The journey took you to the edge of the forest, circled you around for miles as you laid claim to the borders. And it was only when everything was finally marked as yours that you returned, the scent of wood burning and gun oil and _Chris_ guiding you back more than the moon ever could.

It's taken time to get to this point, time overlaid with blood and sweat and tears. You fit now, lives slotting together easily, but that's not how it began, not at first. Not with him too worried about whether anyone could follow you, and you thrown into a life with no past, with no memory. Thrown in with nothing in your mind to tell you who you are except the soft _Peter_ murmured into your hair when he thinks you're sleeping.

A car accident, he'd said. Long term memory loss. He'd brought you out here to recover, to slide back into some semblance of life without the bustle of everyone else around you. You'd spent your first anniversary here, he'd said, his hand on your cheek.

And although you'd known his touch, recognised it down in your bones, you'd also known his words weren't exactly the truth, not when you could hear his heartbeat, steady and grounding. Not when the sounds of the forest outside, of the animals rummaging in the underbrush make you want to run, to chase, to kill. You can almost feel the blood sliding down your throat, thick and warm, and the first time your claws come out, the first time your teeth lengthen into points that slice open your lip, you freak out so badly Chris ends up having to knock you unconscious.

You wake with chains around your wrists, around your ankles, a throbbing burn where they're touching your skin, and Chris' hand running through your hair as he whispers _sorry_ over and over again.

He doesn't want to tell you, not at first. Even with the chains burning your skin and the fear that you're the monster in peoples' nightmares, he still stays silent. But when the chains are finally removed, when you're calm enough that the thought of what you might be doesn't send you screaming into the night, you ask and cajole and tempt the words out of him one by one until they're pouring from his lips in a never ending stream.

Not a monster, he explains, but a hunter. He tells you the story of that night, of tracking a pack of monsters through the forest. The hand gripping yours clenches tighter as he tells you the alpha came from nowhere, tells you how he was surrounded by the betas, unable to do anything but watch as the teeth sank into your body, as the claws sank into your neck and pulled your life away from you.

He doesn't know why they let you both live, he says. Doesn't know if it was cruelty or kindness or obligation, thinks maybe it was a combination of all of them.

And then he tells you about the Code. Tells you what is expected of those who find themselves tainted. His grip gets tighter, knuckles turning white as he admits that he didn't even think about it, just grabbed you and ran. You don't know what happened that night, you can't remember anything before the cabin, but the blood that still stains the passenger seat of the truck tells its own story, tells you just as much as Chris' _I couldn't let you go--_

And the thing is, you understand the Code, know why you would have lived like you did. You were the ones who fought against the things that go bump in the night, the ones who made a stand against the creatures that prey on humanity. To then become one of the very monsters you were sworn to take down--

You know exactly why it would normally end in blood and steel.

But there's part of you that's grateful to Chris, to know that he loves you so much he's willing to break faith with everything he believes just so the two of you can survive. To be the focus of that is almost-- overwhelming.

You kiss Chris for the first time that night, more sure of this than anything else since you first opened your eyes on this brave new world. He's given up so much for you, and you know you can never repay him, know that there's never going to be anything that happens that will ever make up for the sacrifices he's had to make just to keep the two of you here. But you try anyway. Try with each touch across his skin, with each press of your lips to his.

You push back into his touch when he slides inside you, opening you first with fingers before pressing into your body. Your hand grabs his as you open around him. Panted out breaths ghost across your skin as his forehead rests against you and he murmurs words into your shoulder. And you may not remember but you _know_ , your body moving with a sense memory that tells you this isn't the first time you've welcomed him into you, that this isn't the first time he's cleaved inside in a way that feels _right_.

Life settles into its own routine after that night, the knowledge of what you are, of what Chris did, no longer the jagged edges around you, ready to tear at flesh with each misstep. You learn to shift, to scent, to hunt. Chris laughs the first time you drop a rabbit at his feet, light and free, until you tackle him to the ground and laughter becomes nothing more than a moan and your name cried out into the air.

But it's not all easy, not all languid days of sun and touch and Chris easing up behind you until you're arching into his grip.

There are times you wake up at night, shaking and screaming with visions of fire and blood and pain in your mind. And Chris just holds you. Holds you and sings softly until you can close your eyes without shaking. The first time, he tells you that alphas have the power to take memories, so it makes sense that they can leave them behind as well.

And even though you know you shouldn't feel sorry for the monster that did this to you, you can't help but think that if that was their life, if that was what they lived through, then it wasn't so surprising that reality slid through their fingers, that they finally went over the edge. You think that maybe, just maybe, you might have done the same.

Day bleeds into night bleeds into day bleeds into time passing as the season changes. Each month the moon pulls at you, lying just under your skin until the need to run becomes too much. But even then, control still comes easily. You watch as claws lengthen and sharpen before retracting them again, the change coming more smoothly, more naturally, than you want to think about.

You only speak about it once, this ease of control. The words spill out of you one night, the crescent moon hidden behind clouds and Chris' leg thrown over yours. Spill out of you in a rush of _how_ and _why_ and wondering what it means that the monster that's now inside of you is settling so effortlessly into your body.

It means nothing, he tells you, beyond the fact that you're strong enough to control it. You take his words and his touch, take his _you always were a stubborn bastard, Peter--_. You take it all, and you never speak of it again. Because it's inside of you, this thing that's curled into the pit of your soul, quiet and waiting. And there's no going back, no getting it out of you. The only options are learn to live with it or let it consume you. And Chris is right, you _are_ too stubborn to let it take you. So, when it needs to, the wolf runs. It runs far and wide before it turns back, before you always, _always_ , find your way back to Chris.

There's a moment when you wake up, warm and comfortable, with the heat of Chris' body behind you and words you haven't yet been able to say bubbling up in your throat. A skip in time when everything's perfect before the outside world encroaches, before the sound of vehicles and people has Chris stiffening behind you. 

There's a moment when the door breaks open and Chris is scrambling out of the bed and the scents hit you and all you're surrounded with is guilt and anger and family and _pack_. And it's overwhelming when you've heard nothing but Chris and yourself for the past few months, the voices overlapping in a chorus of _What the fuck, Argent--_ and _Dad--_ and _Jesus Christ, Peter--_ until it all spirals out and you're shouting at everyone just to shut up.

There's a moment when Chris reaches out, twin growls coming from Derek and Cora, oh god, _Derek_ and _Cora_ , but you're turning away before his hand even reaches you. You roll off the bed and into a crouch, separated from Chris by soft cotton sheets that still carry your combined scent.

"Why?" Even to you your voice sounds wrong, rough and wrecked, and before you've finished speaking, the question is echoed behind you, but you ignore the people at your back.

But Chris isn't answering, he stands silent and steady and the thrumming beat of his heart is unwavering as it runs through you. He's looking at you, and for the first time since this started, you can't read what's in his eyes (could you ever), can't tell what he's thinking (because everything's a lie) as his gaze flickers to the drawer in the nightstand where you know the gun is kept.

" _Why?_ " And even as you ask the question again part of you already knows the answer. Knows that you've been heading this way for years, your history with Chris Argent burned into both your skins in blood and want and fire. Burned into both of you in frantic touches and nights in motel rooms and a father who won't accept his only son sleeping with the very creature he's sworn to destroy.

Only, Chris made his decision, made it years ago with a hand to your cheek as he kissed you goodbye and words that sounded more like Gerard than Chris ever had.

"Always going to be a hunter, eh, Argent?" Because what else is there to say. Because all the other words inside you feel like they're weighted down with rocks, and you still don't know if you could have lived the rest of your life without them ever finding you.

The wince that crosses Chris' face is barely visible, but you're a wolf and, as much as you may want to deny it, you'll always be attuned to Chris. There's no flare of satisfaction at the hit, just empty space inside you as Chris nods, his eyes barely glancing at the grooves your claws are making in the floor. "Always," he says. And then he moves.

There's a moment--


End file.
